


Want

by Sybilina



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Dubious Consent, M/M, possible ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6398593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sybilina/pseuds/Sybilina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil doesn't like the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want

Neil doesn't like the beach.

Everyone else is always talking about the beach, especially as it gets warmer out, or on especially cold days as they reminisce and daydream. He doesn't say anything, doesn't want to bring the mood down, but he really doesn't like the beach. If he never saw a beach again or felt sand in his shoes, he would count himself a happy man.

Allison brings it up. Actually, Aaron and Nicky brought it up but Allison latched onto it like a life raft. Before he knew it, everyone was yammering away about swimsuits and sand castles and how much whiskey to bring. It made him uncomfortable because they were so happy and excited about it and, after everything he's put them through, why should he rob them of this small happiness?

He feels Andrew's eyes on him more than normal, tries to act nonchalant, tries to plaster a smile on his face as if he was excited as them, but he wonders how many of them he actually fools. Luckily, he's pretty sure Andrew is the only one paying attention.

As he opens the car door at the end of the day, him and Andrew headed back to their apartment, back to their cats and the quiet and the little tomato plant Andrew has been nurturing the last few weeks, and feels Andrew's heat against his back even before Andrew's hand latches onto his arm. It's not painful but he flinches anyway.

Andrew turns him so they're face to face, blocks him in against the side of the car and the open door, and it feels comforting. Like Andrew's presence is enough to hold him up should his legs get weak.

“Yes or no: do you want to go to the beach?” Andrew asks.

Neil licks his lips, doesn't meet Andrew's eyes as he looks back at the building still holding his friends, letting the excitement of their voices echo within the four walls. None of it spills out and it has yet to permeate Neil's skin, his tough outer layer, and he tries to keep the emotions locked inside but he can't. He's never really been good at hiding from Andrew.

A finger tickles the skin under his chin and pulls his eyes back to Andrew's. “Yes or no?” Andrew asks again, his eyes locking him in place.

He shakes his head, swallows hard in the attempt to form the words, but he can't.

He can't.

Andrew nods. His answer is sufficient, apparently, despite the lack of vocalization.

The next few weeks are a blur, of practice and games, of Neil trying to tune out every time they talk about their vacation. He doesn't know what Andrew's nod meant but his stomach drops when, the day before they're supposed to go to the beach, Andrew is packing their bags. Neil tries to add things to the suitcases, even though he doesn't really want to go maybe Andrew does and he'll go if Andrew wants to. But Andrew keeps slapping his hand away and pushing him out of the room until he gives up and plays with some mouse toys with the cats.

Neil tries not to fidget in the car the next day but he feels nauseous. It's worse and better than the cell phone. The cell phone, every time it rang those first few times, was sudden but it also relented. Like waves crashing over him until he slowly got used to them. This feels more like he's inside two huge magnets and they're trying to squeeze him to death. Or he's between two repelling magnets, both tied to him, and he's being pulled apart from the inside.

The car stops at a cabin in the woods. No other cars are nearby, no one had followed or led them. Neil tries to look at Andrew for a hint but Andrew is already out of the car and heading inside.

Neil follows slowly, feeling the magnets, whatever way they were pulling or pushing, slowly fading away. Immediately, Andrew throws some alcohol into the freezer and tosses a bag onto the couch in the living room. Finally, Neil catches his eye. “Just you and me?” he asks softly, hesitant, scared and excited about the answer.

“Just you and me,” Andrew says, glaring at him before heading back out to the car for the rest of their stuff.

Neil is tempted to go with him to help him but he's still not sure if he's allowed to help. If he couldn't do the packing, is he allowed to do the unpacking? Instead, he wanders the house, which isn't large, just a two bedroom, king sized bed in the master suite, fridge fully stocked somehow, wood already in the fireplace just waiting to be lit.

As Andrew unloads their bags in the bedroom, he wanders out to sit on the steps on the front porch. Closes his eyes. Breathes. Swallows thickly.

All it took was one shake of his head for Andrew to come up with all of this. Certainly Andrew would have enjoyed the beach. Instead he chose to come here with Neil.

He'd thought it was going to be like the cell phone. Andrew had seen the panic in his eyes and Andrew had a thing for pushing those kinds of buttons. Yet here they were. In the middle of the woods, not even close to a sea or ocean, alone.

For a while, he just sits there, his eyes closed, breathing deep the smell of the forest. Eventually, though, he gets up, heads inside. Sits on a stool at the bar where Andrew is texting on his phone. Andrew glances up at him only once before glancing back down at the phone and says, “Shut the fuck up. Stop looking at me like that.”

Neil tries to wipe the grin from his face but is pretty sure he fails. He's slightly relieved when he starts getting a few texts from Nicky and Kevin and Matt and he has to take a few moments to reply to them.

A shot glass appears on the counter in front of him, inches away from his hands and his phone. He glances up and slides his phone into his back pocket. Andrew is looking at him with an intense expression.

“You ever been drunk?”

Neil turns his head to the side, thinking. “To dull the pain? Yes. From when Nicky drugged me? Yes. That time in the mountains? Yes.”

Andrew shakes his head. “You weren't drunk in the mountains. You were buzzed. Drunk. Off your ass. Unable to walk straight. Not to dull the pain.”

Neil shakes his head. He's pretty sure he'd hate himself drunk. “I don't think I'd like me drunk. I don't think you'd like me drunk.”

Andrew's mouth twitches. “I want to see you drunk.”

There's a word Neil almost never hears from Andrew's lips and it makes everything inside him stutter to a stop. He blinks at the shot glass in front of him and realizes it's already filled. Immediately, he takes it between his thumb and forefinger, tips his head back and pours the contents down his throat. Slams the glass back onto the counter and stares at Andrew. Once the shotglass is filled again, he throws it back, swallows without tasting, and slams the glass again onto the counter. Andrew is looking at him in confusion but pours again, no doubt wondering if Neil will swallow another. He does. Taps the glass against the counter when Andrew doesn't immediately fill it.

“What the fuck?” Andrew asks, though it's without heat. He's intrigued and curious but not angry.

“You don't want anything. Ever. But you want me drunk. So. I'm going to get drunk.”

He watches as Andrew's throat works, the bob as he swallows. Neil taps the glass against the counter again, softer this time but still insistent.

Andrew pours the alcohol but grabs his wrist before he can throw it back. “That's the last one for a little while. You're going to regret those in about fifteen minutes.”

Neil shrugs but waits until Andrew takes his hand away before pouring the liquid into his mouth. This time he tastes it, feels his eyes burn, shakes his head and huffs out some air after he swallows.

Andrew takes the shot glass away from him, pours it to brimming and brings it to his own mouth. Swallows with less drama than Neil did. Pours again, swallows again. Neil watches him the entire time, wondering how long it takes for shots to really kick in. Wondering if he'll feel it.

“You're not afraid?” Andrew asks.

“Of what?” Neil asks. He's not afraid of Andrew. Pretty sure he hasn't been in a long time, if ever. And it's just the two of them. What would he have to be afraid of?

“Of saying something.” Andrew is looking at him, calculating, considering.

Neil looks him in the eyes. “Kind of hoping I do.”

Andrew's eyebrows climb. Licks his lips like he isn't sure he wants to say what he's thinking and decides to anyway. “Like what?”

Neil grins.

“You're a fucking idiot,” Andrew says.

“True. You're also a fucking idiot,” Neil counters.

“How do you figure?”

Neil gets up, slides around the bar and gets into Andrew's space, grips the extra bits of his shirt where they hang off him, wanting the connection but respecting the distance, slotting his lips over Andrew's, who responds in kind. “You brought me to a cabin in the woods.”

“You don't like the beach,” Andrew says.

“I don't like the beach,” Neil says, able to say it so easily now that he's just repeating Andrew.

“I didn't want to listen to your whining all week long,” Andrew says.

“You're still going to listen to me whining all week long,” Neil says softly, biting Andrew's ear before placing a kiss just below it.

Andrew shivers. Curses, soft and slow, even as his breathing speeds up.

Then Neil leans back, licking and biting his lips, confused.

“You're starting to feel it, aren't you?” Andrew asks.

“Yeah,” Neil says slowly. “Yeah I'm feeling... good. Yeah. Pretty really good.”

“Pretty really good?” Andrew asks, lifting an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah,” Neil says, feeling the grin on his face. He pokes at his cheeks, trying to make the grin go away, but his cheeks refuse to comply. He doesn't miss the dry and annoyed look on Andrew's face. “Hey, you wanted this.”

“I'm starting to regret it,” Andrew says, though Neil's heard him says he doesn't believe in regret. “You're losing your ability to speak English.”

“Good thing I'm multi-lingual,” Neil says in perfect German.

Andrew is silent for a moment before yanking him back in and kissing him. The feel of his tongue in Neil's mouth is slightly different, almost wetter, hotter, a little more frenzied than normal. Then Andrew is backing off him, places some distance between them.

“You're a fucking menace,” Andrew says softly.

“Your menace,” Neil says before he can stop himself. Something about the alcohol in his blood refuses to allow him to regret the words, though.

“Fuck you,” Andrew says.

Neil shrugs. “Yes.” Andrew looks at him for a moment, uncomprehending. “I mean, whenever you're ready. I'm down.”

Andrew continues looking at him, barely blinking, and even though the alcohol is hitting him square in the back and threatening to unhinge him, he looks back, knows how heavy this moment is even if he's not sober enough to truly appreciate it.

“It's the alcohol talking,” Andrew says after a while.

“Yeah,” Neil says. “It is. Like all those times you took the newbies to Columbia, got them good and wasted, so they would spill all their secrets. Because alcohol doesn't lie.”

It was something Andrew had said before, in a moment of heaviness, like the calm before a storm, and it had struck a chord in Neil. Made him wonder what he had experienced while someone else was under the influence.

Now, it makes Andrew swallow. He remembers the words, hates having them thrown back at him no doubt. But it makes him meet Neil's eyes again. Neil makes sure their eyes stay locked on each other as he reaches over and wraps his fingers around the shot glass. “Do you want to pour another? Would you like to hear all the things alcohol will make me say? Now that I have no secrets? Now that I have nothing to hide?”

Andrew is tense, strung like a bow, almost shaking with determination. He reaches out, grabs the shotglass out of Neil's fingertips, starts to throw it at the sink before thinking better of it. For a moment, Neil wonders if the glass is going to shatter within the confines of his hand. It doesn't. Gently, he places it onto the counter next to the sink before turning back to Neil.

Neil is already standing, somehow ready for it, when Andrew grabs him by the front of his shirt, spins him so he can back him towards the couch. Neil's world is wobbling, shaking dramatically with every step, feels like he would fall if he tried walking forward, but he lets Andrew push him backwards, trusts him instinctively. Thinks, even if he fell, that would be okay.

He'd fall for Andrew any day.

He feels his calves hit the couch and he lets Andrew push him down as he realizes the litany of words coming out of his own mouth. But it's not really a litany, he thinks. It's like a chant, how to say the affirmative in every language he knows. Says _ya_ and _oui_ and _si_ over and over again before settling on his native tongue, drawing the _s_ out like a prayer.

He lets Andrew straddle him and hold him pushed against the back of the couch. Even in the haze of the liquid courage, he puts his arms across the back of the couch. Opens up for Andrew while shutting himself down.

Lets Andrew tug his pants off.

Digs his fingers into the cushions as he bites the collar of his shirt.

Lets Andrew take him apart and put him back together, knowing only Andrew could. Only Andrew would. Knows it would only take one word to end it all.

Thinks he's pretty sure he'll never say that word again.

Not to Andrew.

 

 


End file.
